


Sand Timer

by TheArchaeologist



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Not Happy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: It is not all that surprising, really. Five has put his body through a lot over the years, from time travel and forty-five years in the apocalypse, to age regression and transporting seven people at once. It has been stretched out, worn thin, and pushed to its limit and beyond in order to get Five where he needed to go.So, it is unsurprising when it finally gives out.Luther is the one who finds him.





	Sand Timer

There is a moment, just as Five lands back into his bedroom, where he stumbles and thinks nothing but a simple, _oh_.

Not two minutes before this, he was in the kitchen, helping himself to a decent cup of coffee as his siblings bickered about the mundane. In truth, Five did not fully pay attention, because it did not concern him, and quite frankly he could do without being dragged into what sounded like a pointless argument. 

He did not even understand how it started, but by the time his coffee was finished and he was pouring it out into the mug, Allison had her head in her hands, Klaus was laughing, Diego was flicking knives about like it was nobody’s business, and Luther and Vanya were watching at the other end of the table, their heads swivelling back and forth as if watching a tennis match. 

The more Allison and Diego tired to push their side of the disagreement, the more Klaus shoved back, the conversation getting wilder and the words growing more ludicrous with every passing second. Klaus insisted that Ben was on his side, but whether there was any truth to that none of them could be sure.

It was all nonsense.

Scoffing at the scene, Five had taken a gulp of his coffee, declared them all idiots, and jumped to his room to get some peace for half an hour. He had intended to do some organisation today, finally clear out the useless mess leftover from his childhood that still cluttered his space, untouched for years by a hesitantly grieving family and gathering unwanted dust.

It is as he lands, however, that Five realises he will not be doing that today.

He will not be doing anything at all.

The thing is, his body, for all that it is young and bounces back quickly, is still the product of a rather unfortunate and ultimately exhausting life. It has been forced through things humans should not be forced through, like trying to fix a square peg through a round hole. Five had managed it, somehow, but then he had done it again, and then again, and again, until the sharp corners dulled, and the wood splintered.

His body, while perhaps not his original, is still his body, and bares the scares of successes and failures past.

As Five lands, not even spilling a drop of his coffee, he is struck with the sudden realisation that this last jump was perhaps just enough to crack the square peg in two.

His heart stutters. 

Five feels it, deep within his chest, like a hiccup jarring his internal organs. The shock makes him stagger, the mug hurriedly being abandoned on his desk as Five leans his weight against it, clutching at the material of his sweater. 

Without thinking, his breathing hitches, catching the back of his throat in a way that makes him cough dryly. Against the wood of the table, his palm is cool, clammy, shaking with a movement that is not spawned from fear but instead the brutality of his body rebelling against him.

“S-Shit.” Stumbling backwards, Five reaches for his bed, using the bedpost to drag himself across the floorboards and sit down heavily on the made sheets, courtesy of Mom’s gentle handiwork.

There is a sensation, deep within his bones, within his marrow, shivering each cell with a strange ferocity. It is familiar, and in any other circumstance Five might gather the courage to call it comforting, because he has known all his life. 

Spatial jumping works on the ability of tearing oneself apart and smashing everything back together. It is a messy process at the best of times, one that makes the contents of his stomach spin and his brain dance should Five push himself to the ultimate limit. The human body simply is not designed to withstand such abuse, and Five has known for a long time that spatial jumping is in no way a healthy endeavour. 

He just did not realise he has been on sat on a ticking timer this entire time.

Five pants, gritting his teeth and doubling over, squeezing his eyes shut.

His heart thuds again, strong enough that his fingers pick up the motion under his clothes, and with a little whimper Five collapses down onto his bed, rolling over with his back to the door to curl up, his knees tucking close to his stomach.

Spots start to flicker in his vision, like flies over the corpses he uncovered in the apocalypse, darting about in thick black blobs. It makes the world blurred, his eyes finding it hard to properly focus. Beating heavily, his pulse thuds within Five’s ears, fast and struggling.

His free hand, the one not gripping over his chest, lays out uselessly in front of him. 

Blue, sharp and electric and ultimate, swirls around his fingers, making Five’s fingernails glow. It seeps in and out of his skin, like watching the surf of the sea sweep up and down the shore, and with a delayed blink Five realises he cannot feel the limb at all.

He cannot feel much of anything.

Something is ringing in his ears, a high pitch wail that Five would almost describe as white. It blares through, cutting out the normal sounds of traffic, muffled behind layers of mansion brick and glass, and the continued bickering downstairs, hidden under the floorboards of the academy. In a strange way, it reminds Five of the noise he heard when he last hit his head.

Lacking the energy to muster up the effort to speak, Five simply watches with a glazed vision as the blue descends through his arm, vanishing under his clothes and merging into a saturated smudge of colours. The black sinks lower, as if he was simply closing his eyes with sleep, and absently Five registers his hand releasing is clothes, falling forward limply onto the bed.

Five goes.

****

*****

Luther stands outside Five’s bedroom door. 

He isn’t hovering, because if Five realised he was hovering, he’d grouch and snap at him, so Luther isn’t doing that. He is simply waiting for a good moment to knock.

Five had been tired this morning, when he came down in the middle of the debate to find half the Hargreeves arguing over something Luther couldn’t completely follow. Although he’d been dressed, Luther quietly suspected that after his coffee Five would probably crash out on his bed again, or at least in one of the many cosy nooks of the mansion. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d find him passed out in a chair deep within the library, a book sprawled across his lap and a cooling mug to one side.

Now though, it’s a little passed lunch, and Five has yet to make an appearance.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Luther taps his hands awkwardly against his thighs and purses his lips. He can’t hear anything coming from the other side of the door, no soft muttering or gentle scrape of chalk over wallpaper, so it’s possible that Five’s still zonked out. 

Then again, Five’s never been one for bothering to let them know when he’s going out, so he could, in theory, be basically anywhere.

If he _is_ here, he should probably eat something. Five didn’t really have much at dinner last night, and he skipped breakfast this morning in favour of huffing at them with his usual raised brow and ‘ _I’m better than you_ ’ attitude. If Allison or Vanya were here, then they’d have done this hours ago, fretting over Five in their usual manner.

Allison and Vanya aren’t here, however, and Diego has vanished into the mansion and Klaus is busy chatting to Ben downstairs, so it’s up to Luther to see to it that their brother eats his lunch.

Swallowing, Luther knocks on the door. “Hey, Five? You in there?”

Nothing. Pure silence. Not even a frustrated huff at being woken up or cross footsteps across the floor to click the lock into place.

Luther’s going to open the door to an empty room, isn’t he?

Damn, he feels dumb.

“Five?” Pushing the door open somewhat tentatively, just in case a flying projectile goes spinning towards his head, Luther peers around the door, awkwardly manipulating his body through the cramped gap he gives himself. As his gaze quickly falls onto Five’s still form on the bed, he relaxes, and walks more confidently into the room. “Five? You up yet?”

Walking across towards the bed, Luther gently reaches a hand out, taking Five’s shoulder and giving it a small shake. As he does, he leans over, trying to get a look at Five’s face.

A distinct, unshakable feeling of _wrongness_ hits into him, striking straight into Luther’s sternum like a punch. He blinks, his brows furrowing as he dips down closer to the bed, noting the listless limbs that hold no tension nor support their own weight.

“Five?” Luther asks again, only this time it isn’t the gentle call to wake a sibling. This time, it’s soft, whispered, scared as the wrongness spreads, drowning Luther’s chest cavity as he momentarily forgets how to breathe.

Eyes, open and clouded, gaze out at the wall. They do not blink. They do not react to Luther. They simply stare, dry and empty and devoid of emotion.

Luther can feel his jaw trembling, because two and two are slowing knitting together, merging to create an answer he doesn’t want to have. Luther’s fingers trail down from the shoulder, the tips barely brushing the side of Five’s neck.

He instantly snaps them back.

The skin is cold.

Five’s skin is cold, and as he gapes, he realises it’s tinged slightly blue, as well.

Their brother is dead.

Heat rises behind Luther’s eyes, scorching and terrible, but he doesn’t blink it away. He doesn’t do anything, apart from stare, and breathe, and boggle at what the hell happened to leave his oldest and youngest brother dead.

Five is _dead_.

There aren’t any miracles for them to work here. No bouncing back in time or _rumouring_ the fabric of reality to their will. Five is dead, stone cold and lifeless, and that is simply the world they now live in. 

They have lost their smallest brother, and there’s absolutely nothing they can do about it.

****

*****

Diego finds Five’s door open.

Peering in with only the slimmest slice of curiosity, he blinks at the sight of Luther, sat in a desk chair on the other side of Five’s bed facing Five and the door, huddled over impossibly small.

On any other average day, Diego might not give a shit. To be frank, he still might not give a shit now. Keeping up with the Hargreeves Family Trauma is a marathon on the best of days, not helped by the fact that there’s seven of them to juggle and each has their own myriad of secret issues and normalised behavioural problems. How Mom manages to deal with them, Diego hasn’t got a clue, and hats off to her for doing so.

Today, however, Diego hasn’t got much to do, and the way Luther’s crumpled over makes something Diego would rather not think about turn in his stomach. So, against his better judgement, he ambles into the doorway, crossing his arms to lean on the frame.

“He drunk again?” He asks, and Luther startles, glancing up.

The twist on his stomach turns into a damn rollercoaster.

Luther’s face is a mess, red eyed and tearstained, and it’s clear that not only has he been crying, he’s been crying _hard_ for a _while_. There’s this quivering to his lips, one that only comes when someone loses someone else, and a cold, sharp chill runs over Diego’s skin.

“Luther?” All joking and light-heartedness gone, Diego enters properly into the room, glancing up and down from Luther to Five, and then back again. “What? What’s wrong?”

His brother, for all his large mass and stumbling ego, is, at times, a bit of an overreactor. He never used to be, before Diego and everyone else left, but since _the accident_ there’s been this certain bruised quality about him, a sensitiveness that takes them all by surprise at the best (or, more often, worst) of times.

Diego is not a praying man, but right now he prays that this is what’s happening here. Five is drunk and snapped out a harsh insult at their largest brother, as he does to all of them when he’s feeling cornered and put upon, and Luther dragged his sorry ass to bed and is now sobbing about it.

Five is still on the bed.

“Luther.” Diego says again, and this time it’s not a question.

Sniffing, Luther shakes his head, burying the heel of his hand into a reddened eye.

Five is _scarily_ still on the bed. So still, in fact, that Diego can’t see him breathing. 

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, Diego inches closer, barely tilting his head to catch a glimpse at Five’s face.

His eyes are open, gazing out beside Luther. His skin, normally pale on the best of days, is practically grey, ashen, as if someone had left white paint to fade in sunlight. His fingers rest ever so slightly curled, sprawled out in front of him, as from this new angle Diego realises Luther is desperately squeezing one of them. There’s no attempt to squeeze back.

On an impulse, Diego reaches to search for a pulse, but as he brushes against cooled skin he knows.

Nothing that temperature has any chance of being alive.

“What happened?” Diego asks the wall in front of him, surprising himself how well his words come out. To him, they feel as if they are choking, lodging within his throat.

Luther lets out a broken, wet breath. “ _I don’t know_. I just found him, like this. His coffee’s still over there.” Following Luther’s pointed hand, Diego eyes the mug on the desk, still full. “I don’t think he even drunk it.”

Diego went to the police academy. He was eventually kicked out, but you don’t leave without learning a thing or two.

Five is, and has been since he got back, a coffee addict. It’s as sad as it is hilarious. Diego seen him chug it down while it’s still boiling hot without so much as a flinch, and rarely does a cup survive longer than ten minutes in the presence of Five’s company.

His little brother has been dead since breakfast, and none of them even realised.

****

*****

Five walks down the Academy stairs.

The house is quiet.

Vanya and Allison, he thinks, went out for lunch and an afternoon shopping. Not really Vanya’s thing, anyone would admit, but she was the one who suggested it and Allison all but leapt at the chance.

Klaus had been banned from going with them until he earned his own money to spend. 

Diego and Luther are nowhere to be seen, probably off in some random corner somewhere, bickering or sharpening knives and painting model airplanes. However, as he slowly makes his way down, Five can hear voices from the living room.

It is cold, an odd, icy chill.

“Ah-ha!” Klaus exclaims as Five appears in the doorway, sprawled out across the couch like a queen in a bad historical drama. He wafts a cigarette in one hand and brandishes a glass of something in the other. “Number Five, thank you for joining us. Ben and I were just wondering how little old me could make some dough. _Legally_.” He stresses.

Five blinks, and swallows.

In front of Klaus is Ben. 

His brother looks older, unsurprising given the brief glances Five’s had when Klaus’ been strong enough to make him visible, but it is one thing to _know_ it, another to _see_ it before your own eyes.

Ben is not looking at Five, instead he is stood with his arms crossed, shaking his head and grumbling something under his breath. His stance is easy and open, speaking of a fondness he is hiding away under layers of good-natured temper.

Klaus, not fully paying Five any attention, blabbers on. “Retail work’s out, because like _hell_ am I putting myself through _customer service_. I’ve met enough druggie Grimbel Brother workers to last me a lifetime, thanks.”

“The zoo?” Ben suggests, still not turning towards Five as he quietly approaches, his shoes making no noise on the carpet. “You like animals.”

“Nah, you need…” Klaus waves his hand about, threatening to spill his drink. “ _Qualifications_.”

“You could always go to school-”

Scoffing, Klaus interrupts, “What, _hey everyone, meet our new student! He’s old enough to be your father, but he looks sexy in the uniform!”_

“You come up with some suggestions, then.” Ben tuts.

“Ugh.” Klaus groans, taking in a breath of his cigarette. “Y’know, I’m newly sober, we shouldn’t be pressure-”

Drowning out whatever Klaus was going to say with a startled yelp, Ben freezes instantly under Five’s light touch before spinning around and forcefully yanking himself away from the hand. He stares, wide eyed and mouth hanging open, and in return Five frowns up at him.

“Ben?”

_“Five?”_

The sound of a glass shattering slices through the room, and out of the very corners of his vision, Five sees Klaus go scuttling up the couch, dragging himself away with a stuttered intake of breath.

Five does not feel the need to breathe, so he does not.

Ben’s hand reaches towards him, hovering over Five as if unsure where to land, as if Five will break and shatter if he moves too fast too suddenly. Their gazes do not break, scared eyes meeting quiet, and after a moment the palm finally brings itself to rest against Five’s cheek, cupping it with a care Five has not felt in a while.

There is no warmth to the hand, nor is there any to Five’s face, and Five can see the moment this registers in Ben’s expression, something stunned and horrified and _pained_ flashing through it.

“Five?” Ben squeaks, talking as if he has never been heard before. “Five, you can…You’re…”

Opening his mouth to reply, Five finds himself lost for words, unable to truly communicate what is happening right now. There is a strange nothingness to his brain, as if someone has finally, _finally_ , hit the off switch, and an energy he did not know was buzzing under his skin has left his bones, leaving them hollow.

Footsteps approach the room, and just as the hunched figures of Luther and Diego appear, Klaus, deathly pale and with tears sliding down his cheeks, whispers, “Five?”

**Author's Note:**

> I show my favourite characters affection by killing them.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


End file.
